


The Test of a Shield

by Ignis_Sassentia



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen, You can pry cute Amicitia family interactions out of my cold dead hands, Young Gladiolus, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:53:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ignis_Sassentia/pseuds/Ignis_Sassentia
Summary: Clarus always has the same three questions for Gladio during their sparring sessions. This time, though, he asks a new one.





	The Test of a Shield

Gladiolus gritted his teeth as his father’s sword slammed against his again. They’d been training together for years now, since Gladio had been old enough to hold a sword, but there was something different about this sparring session--the first after Gladio’s eighteenth birthday. His father was driving him harder than ever before, barely giving him room to breathe between heavy blows. 

They’d danced around the big, empty training hall at least three times now, nearly evenly matched. But Clarus had two huge advantages on his son: stamina, and decades more of practice. 

“Dad,” Gladio gasped as his back hit the wall. He barely managed to get his broadsword back up to block the next swing. “What the hell?!” 

Clarus leaned into his blade, pressing Gladio further against the wall. His eyes were narrow, glittering chips of ice. Without preamble, voice low and husky, he asked, “Are you prepared to die for your king?” 

“Yes, sir,” Gladio replied automatically. The response was so ingrained in him, he was sure he’d been born with the words on his lips. He was Prince Noctis’ Shield. His duty was to protect the future king at all costs, even his own life. He’d learned that practically before he could walk. He’d had eighteen years to come to terms with that. Eighteen years of listening to his father ask the same three questions over and over again. 

Clarus’ expression didn’t change, but he stepped back enough to allow Gladio to move away from the wall. 

When he was younger, Gladio would have taken the opportunity to charge forward in the hopes that he might get a hit in. After so many years of sparring with his father, however, he knew that it was trap for young, impatient warriors. Instead, he stepped away from the wall and toward the right--his father’s weaker side. He kept his sword up, ready for the next blow, as he crept across the wooden floor. 

The faintest flicker of approval crossed Clarus’ face for a brief second before his expression schooled itself back into intense blankness. He turned on the balls of his feet to follow his son’s movements, but remained otherwise perfectly still. 

Gladio knew his father was just waiting for his patience to run out. He was determined not to give Clarus the satisfaction this time. 

“Well done,” Clarus murmured with another little flicker of approval. After a moment, he surged forward again. 

Swords clashed, feet scrambled over hardwood, and Gladio managed to back the older Amicitia into a corner this time. Of course, that just meant he had to very carefully keep the swell of pride in check. Getting cocky in the middle of training would only make him stupid--and he’d been lectured about being stupid in sparring way too much. All the same, he couldn’t stop a little smile as he stepped back to give his father some breathing room. 

“Will you devote yourself to being the King’s Shield, and nothing else?” Clarus asked over the next round of singing metal blades. 

“Yes, sir!” Gladio barked back, swinging his sword in a huge over-handed arc. 

Clarus side-stepped the blow and brought his own blade around, stopping it inches from hitting his son’s side. 

Gladio gritted his teeth and spun away, cursing himself for leaving that opening. 

Both of them were panting and sweating, but neither was ready to back down. Gladio knew there was one more question before the training could end. It was just a matter of time until his father asked if he would let anything sway him from his duties. 

They made another circuit of the room before Gladio tripped over the pile of training mats against one wall and went sprawling on his back. He moved to roll to his feet, but his father had a sword at his throat before he could. 

For a long moment, they remained perfectly still, staring at each other and gasping for breath. 

Finally, Clarus pulled his blade back and muttered, “What does being the Shield of the King mean to you?” 

Gladio opened his mouth to swear nothing would take him away from protecting the future king but realized suddenly that that hadn’t been the question. He stared dumbly at his father for a long moment as his brain struggled to process the words. What did being the Shield of the King mean him? 

Clarus chuckled softly and offered his son a hand. “Well?” 

“It’s...who I am,” Gladio finally managed to say, the words slow and cautious as he let his father help him back to his feet. He was silent for another moment, considering, trying to put his words in order. Then he met his father’s gaze and squared his shoulders. “Being the King’s Shield means putting Lucis before myself.  It means detecting potential threats before they’re an issue, and dealing with them quickly and efficiently, and being strong enough to handle whatever hits me. It means protecting my Prince at all costs, focusing for him when he can’t, pushing him forward to be the best leader he can be--and taking pride in that.”

Clarus folded his arms, studying Gladio with those piercing eyes of his. Finally, he hummed quietly. “Not bad, Gladiolus. Not as eloquent as I’d hoped, but not bad.” 

Gladio snorted quietly and turned to pad toward the corner where he’d left a towel and his water bottle “Well, it ain’t like I’m going to write you a poem, Dad.” 

“Of course not,” Clarus chuckled and, for the first time all morning, a real smile crossed his face. “But I expect you’ll have one prepared for your swearing in.” 

Gladio froze with the water bottle halfway to his lips. Very slowly, he turned around to face his father. He’d unofficially been Noctis’ Shield for years, but he couldn’t fully hold the position until he’d both came of age and earned the approval of the man training him. He’d dreamed of the day he’d be sworn into the Crownsguard and officially stationed at Noct’s side for years. Once all the I’s were dotted and the T’s were crossed, he would actually be able to protect the Crown Prince the way he’d been groomed his whole life, instead of standing awkwardly on the sidelines while Glaives and older Crownsguard did the real dirty work. “You...really think I’m ready?” 

“I do.” Clarus crossed the room and placed both hands on his son’s shoulders, searching Gladio’s face. He smiled again and kissed Gladio’s forehead. “You’re going to do wonderfully.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Gladio whispered. He swept the older man up in a tight hug, unable to control the pure joy running through him. 


End file.
